


CrisMerce Morn

by Elldritch



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Anal Sex, Big Dve Energy, Canaan-typical polyamory, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Illustrated, Mistletoe, Multi, Porn with a bit of plot if you squint, Pyrrha Fucks, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Rope Suspension, Seducing the oblivious, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering, You Are Allowed To Want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27995091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elldritch/pseuds/Elldritch
Summary: In the very early days at Canaan House, Cristabel decides it's time to let Mercymorn know how she feels, in a way that even this most oblivious of necromancers can't ignore.She can't do it alone, but Pyrrha is here to help.
Relationships: Cristabel Oct/Pyrrha Dve, Mercymorn the First/Cristabel Oct, Mercymorn the First/Cristabel Oct/Pyrrha Dve, Pyrrha Dve/Gideon the First
Comments: 13
Kudos: 23
Collections: The Locked Tomb Holiday Smut Festival 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the amazing GallPall for betaing, and Ayla for helping with the image descriptions!

“Do you think it’s going to work?” Cristabel asked, with more anxiety than she typically felt when Pyrrha had her tied up. Usually, being tied up by Pyrrha instantly transformed Cristabel into a blissful puddle of arousal, but this was a special occasion, and Cristabel was too devastatingly invested in the outcome to relax into the comforting sensation of being bound. 

“You know I can’t make any promises on that front, love,” Pyrrha said, “but there’s no way in hell I’d walk away from an ass that sweet. And you know I’ll make sure you have a good time, even if it’s just the two of us.”

“You always do,” Cristabel smiled, and leaned in for a kiss, letting the ropes Pyrrha had tied around her hips take more of her weight, enjoying the bite where they dug into her flesh. 

“I just really like her, you know? I feel like we could have something special.” Cristabel said, unable to keep a wistful tone out of her voice.

“I know darling, I know.”

“She’s beautiful, and she’s smart…”

“Yeah,” Pyrrha drawled, “because John is cluttering up the place with ugly dunces - aside from your precious girl.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call Him that,” Cristabel admonished, feeling faintly scandalised, as she always did when Pyrrha insisted on referring to God by name, “He’s God; I love Him with all my heart, and I count myself blessed that He considered me worthy of joining so noble a fellowship.”

“What can I say? The man’s got taste… in people, if not in clothes. Although…”

They exchanged an amused look, before laughing in unison, “Augustine.”

“The exception to the rule. You know he only started smoking to impress you, right?” Cristabel asked with a smirk.

“Oh, I know. Don’t know why he bothered though.”

“Not impressed?”

“Honey, he could learn to blow smoke rings out his ass, and I wouldn’t be interested. Not my type.”

Cristabel decided that was more than enough talk about Augustine, especially when she was naked, tied up, and desperately hoping that Mercymorn - who had remained utterly oblivious of Cristabel’s every attempt to seduce her - would finally take notice. It scared Cristabel sometimes, just how much she needed Mercy to notice her.

“I think I could make her happy.”

“You make everyone happy, sweetness; but is she going to make you happy? You’re very different people.”

There was a knock at the door. Cristabel forced herself to relax; she didn’t want to come off as too intense. Pyrrha could obviously tell how nervous she was, and the hand cupping her breast went from sensual to comforting, as though Pyrrha were gentling a skittish horse.

“Come in!” Pyrrha called, and the door opened, and there was Mercymorn. 

“Gideon said you needed… oh.” Mercy’s voice trailed off as she took in the scene in front of her. “I can come back later.”

“No!” Cristabel said, more shrilly than she intended. “Don’t go; join us. Please.”

“Kiss under the mistletoe?” Pyrrha asked, and Cristabel couldn’t see her face, because any time Mercymorn was there, Cristabel only had eyes for her, but she could hear the wink in Pyrrha’s voice.

Mercy’s eyes visibly flickered over to the mistletoe in question, which hung just above Cristabel’s cunt, framing it artistically, before she looked back to Cristabel’s face; not quite meeting her eyes, but taking in her flushed cheeks, her parted lips. Mercy took a step forward and raised one hand, and for a moment, Cris thought that everything was about to fall into place, and she felt her heart leap. 

Then Mercymorn stopped. Her face was as red as her hair, and she had to clear her throat before she spoke. “Ah, I should go. There’s something I need to…”

“But it’s the holiday,” Cristabel said, plaintively.

“Come on, Mercy,” Pyrrha interjected, “you know John likes his little winter festival. No one’s doing any work this week. Why don’t you come celebrate with us?”

“Another time!” Mercymorn said, and fled. The door swung sadly closed behind her.

Cristabel felt tears welling up in her eyes. She felt ridiculous, trussed up like the bird God always insisted on cooking on the solstice, and she knew she’d been stupid to think that someone like Mercy could be tempted by a stunt like this. It wasn’t like she ever came to any of Ulysses’ parties. Mercymorn probably hated her now…

“Shh, sweetheart,” Pyrrha said, stroking Cristabel’s hair, and interrupting her spiraling thoughts, “it’s not as bad as all that. She didn’t say no.”

“She didn’t say yes, either.”

“She probably just needs time to get her head around things. You know what she’s like.”

“But I’ve been trying for months now.” The tears finally spilled over, pouring down Cristabel’s cheeks.

“Hush, love. You said yourself; she’s totally oblivious to everything except her work. That’s why we’re doing this, remember? 'Something so obvious even Mercymorn can’t fail to notice?' Give her some time.”

“You think so?”

“I saw the look she gave you. She was a hair’s breadth from burying her face in your very magnificent cunt before she bolted. Gideon was exactly the same; I practically had to send him a formal invitation, asking him to RSVP his attendance to a seduction. We’ve got another few days before it’s back to work; let’s try again tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now… why don’t I see what I can do to cheer you up?”

Cristabel sniffled, just a little, and smiled. She trusted Pyrrha’s judgment, and her expertise; Gideon was the only one who left the room more quickly than Mercymorn, those evenings when things started getting amorous over dessert, and yet Cristabel knew that Gideon slept in Pyrrha’s bed more nights than he didn’t, these days. If Pyrrha said there was hope, then Cristabel would hope. 

Seeing her smile, Pyrrha leaned in to kiss her, and Cristabel let Pyrrha’s touch do what it always did, and soothe away all trace of higher brain function, until Cristabel was aware only of the heat of Pyrrha’s lips, the roughness of her calloused hands, and the rope she’d tied so expertly, holding Cristabel up as her knees weakened beneath her. 

Cristabel let her hand trace a path from Pyrrha’s shoulder down to cup one of her breasts, feeling the soft weight of it, somehow all the softer set against the solid, sculpted muscle of Pyrrha’s stomach, arms, thighs. Cristabel loved these secret parts of her, loved that she was allowed this intimacy, allowed to touch and kiss and worship Pyrrha’s softness, the side of her that only a privileged few even saw. The Pyrrha who held her behind closed doors was not the swaggering-but-untouchable Pyrrha of Ulysses’ parties, capable of fucking each and every one of them into oblivion without batting an eye. 

This Pyrrha was a woman who allowed herself to want, who opened herself up to need, and let herself be consumed by it, and Cristabel loved nothing more than throwing herself upon that conflagration, the fuel to Pyrrha’s fire. Cristabel gave herself up to Pyrrha’s kisses, and to her hands, and to the faith that even if Mercymorn could not love her, she would not be unloved.

Cristabel lifted her feet from the floor, carefully, so as not to set herself swinging, and then she hung, held aloft by the rope Pyrrha had tied around her, and anchored in all the places where their bodies touched. She stretched her legs out behind her, luxuriating in the freedom, the feeling of flying, the strength of her resurrected body. She shifted her weight forwards, pressing kisses down Pyrrha’s neck, and lower, until she could capture one of Pyrrha’s nipples between her lips. She put her hands on the older woman’s hips to keep herself steady, her tongue speaking devotion upon Pyrrha’s skin more profoundly than it ever could with words.

She buried her face in Pyrrha’s breasts, pouring herself into this act of adoration as though Pyrrha’s body were the vessel which could hold her safe and keep her from being dashed upon the rocks of her own wanting. Again and again, as she listened to the symphony of Pyrrha’s harsh breaths, she came back to this: Pyrrha loved her, and that could be enough, if it had to be. 

Pyrrha had an unerring instinct for when Cristabel’s thoughts were tending towards the maudlin. She pulled away, and leaned back on one elbow, before putting a hand to Cristabel’s shoulder and sending her gently spinning. This was something which never failed to fill Cristabel with giddy exhilaration, and today was no exception; her sadness spun away, and she shrieked and giggled, wriggling wildly in her bonds. 

She knew that she could drop her feet to the ground at any time and stop the uncontrolled spin, but instead she curled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and letting herself whirl faster, until she came to an abrupt stop, Pyrrha’s strong hands on her hips. Cristabel’s laughter turned into a gasp of pleasure as Pyrrha nestled her face between Cristabel’s thighs, tongue targeting her clit with astonishing precision, given that Cristabel still writhed and swung in her nest of ropes. 

Gradually, Cristabel let herself relax, lowering her legs until she could wrap them around Pyrrha’s chest, holding herself in place and freeing up Pyrrha’s hands for more interesting tasks. Pyrrha hummed her appreciation, and a delighted shiver ran up Cristabel’s spine.

Cristabel brought her hands to her breasts; she loved the way they felt when she was suspended like this, how each small movement of her body was magnified in their swaying. She stroked her nipples as Pyrrha brought her to one climax, and then another, so hot on the heels of the first that the spasmodic clenching of her cunt barely had time to slow. 

“Please,” Cristabel gasped, and she didn’t have to finish the thought, because Pyrrha knew exactly what she needed, familiarity built up over the months and years they’d been fucking. Pyrrha’s tongue made its way upwards until she was licking her way inside Cristabel’s cunt, Pyrrha’s fingers moving smoothly to Cristabel’s clit so that Cris didn’t have time to miss her tongue there. 

For a moment which both seemed to stretch to eternity, and pass in the blink of an eye, it was enough to feel Pyrrha’s tongue inside her, but Cristabel craved more, and they both knew it. This sort of stimulation could keep her going until her orgasms became too numerous to count, but to be truly sated, Cristabel needed to be pushed, to be so utterly overwhelmed with sensation that she lost herself to it. 

Just as Pyrrha’s fingers had replaced the tongue on her clit, now Cris felt the fingers of Pyrrha’s other hand slipping inside her, first one, then two, and then Cristabel had no space left in her mind for counting them as Pyrrha started licking her asshole. Cristabel dug her fingers into her breasts, feeling their heavy, pendulous softness, and wrestled for a time with the attempt to comprehend everything that was happening to her; the way Pyrrha rolled her clit between thumb and forefinger, occasionally, gently pinching, as if to punctuate the tale she was telling through Cristabel’s flesh; the fullness of her cunt, and the bite of the rope around her hips, between her legs; the insistent tongue working its way inside her. Then the inevitable happened, and the effort to experience each of these pleasures as distinct and discrete became too much, and she gave in and let herself be consumed. 

When she came to herself, her legs no longer gripped Pyrrha’s chest, but hung limply to the floor. Her throat was dry, and she knew she must have cried out, knew that she’d have Valancy and Nigella winking at her over breakfast the next morning, and needling her for details - details they’d never get, because some things were sacred to Cristabel. She wondered whether Mercymorn had heard, what she’d thought, if she regretted having left. 

And then Pyrrha’s arms were around her, holding her up as the ropes were unhooked, and carrying her over to the bed. Cristabel stayed conscious long enough for Pyrrha to untie her, and then climb into bed beside her, holding her close. 

Her last thought as she fell asleep was: Tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

The next afternoon, Cristabel was once again tied up and anxiously waiting for Mercymorn to arrive. Cris was wearing her holiday best - well, for a given value of ‘wearing’, anyway - and she was letting the festive air buoy her spirits. 

Not that they needed all that much buoying. For all that she was nervous, she also couldn’t take her eyes off Pyrrha, who was staring frankly back at her, letting her gaze roam hungrily over Cristabel’s bare breasts and bound thighs as she stroked the smooth silicone of her cock. There was a knock at the door, and at Pyrrha’s affirmative shout, the door opened, and there Mercymorn was.

She looked radiant. Mercy had finally stopped resisting and given in to John’s insistence that they all celebrate; gone were her practical work clothes, and she was clad in a dress of sheer, clinging silk, in a rose gold which matched her hair, so perfectly fitted to her body that it was obvious that she wore nothing underneath. Her hair was pinned up in elaborate braids, and Cristabel wanted nothing more than to free it and let it fall loose over her shoulders, to run her hands through the tresses which looked as smooth and fine as the silk of her dress. Cristabel realised she had no idea how long Mercy’s hair actually was; she’d only ever seen it braided. 

“Gideon said you wanted me?” Mercy sounded confident, but Cris could see in her eyes that she was desperately out of her depth; she could only hope that this was a sign that Mercy might need this as much as she did.

“I’ve wanted you since the first time I laid eyes on you,” Cris said, and it felt good to lay her heart bare at last. 

Mercy didn’t seem to know what to say to that. Pyrrha grabbed her arm, and tugged the floundering necromancer towards her; in a very un-Mercy-like fashion, Mercy didn’t resist. Pyrrha pulled her down to sit on her knee, and Cristabel heard as Pyrrha whispered into Mercymorn’s ear: “You’ve been terribly good all year; why don’t you tell me what you want for the solstice?”. She didn’t hear whatever it was that Mercymorn whispered back, before Pyrrha put a hand on her cheek, and kissed her. 

Cristabel hung, torn between the agony of waiting, and the spectacle of the two women she loved most in all the world holding each other. And if it was Pyrrha that Mercymorn wanted, then Cristabel would count herself blessed for having been part of bringing Mercy that joy. Cristabel wanted Mercymorn to be happy, more than she needed Mercymorn to be hers.

Then Mercy slid down from Pyrrha’s lap onto her knees, and Cristabel caught a creamy flash of bare thigh; Mercy’s dress apparently had a large slit up the side of it, allowing her to move unfettered. The intensity of the eye-contact between Pyrrha and Mercymorn, as Mercy leaned in to take Pyrrha’s cock into her mouth, made Cristabel suddenly shy, as though this were an intimacy she had no right to be sharing. But then Mercy lifted one hand and laid it on Cristabel’s thigh, as tenderly as Pyrrha cupped Mercy’s cheek, and Cristabel was part of their togetherness, not merely an outsider looking in. 

“Let’s give our girl a show, shall we?” Pyrrha murmured down to Mercymorn, and Cristabel felt her words like kisses.

Pyrrha arched her back, unashamedly broadcasting the effect Mercy’s lips had on her. Cristabel had long suspected that Pyrrha loved having her cock sucked even more than she loved a tongue on her clit, or fingers in her cunt. She’d asked Pyrrha about it once, and though she hadn’t truly understood the answer - something about feeling like her mind was being caressed directly, without the bodily sensations getting in the way - she didn’t need to know why to know that Pyrrha truly did adore this, more than anything else. 

Just as Cristabel though that she might combust, or expire, or both, from the sheer torture of watching this while helplessly bound and unable to participate, Pyrrha used her hand on Mercymorn’s cheek to tilt her head upwards, breathing: “Why don’t you go make our sweet darling feel nice… while I get ready to make her feel nasty?”

And then Mercy had shifted, so that she was kneeling before Cristabel as though she knelt before an altar, staring up at her with a worshipful reverence that filled Cristabel with hope and longing and fear in equal measure. Hope that Mercy might truly love her; longing to be able to reach out and touch her; though Cris and Pyrrha had both agreed that a wholly restrained Cristabel might represent less of an intimidating prospect to Mercy, for their first time; and fear that she could never hope to live up to the adoration she saw in Mercy’s eyes.

The first brush of Mercy’s lips against her cunt was butterfly-wing light, barely distinguishable from the heat of her breath, but its impact on Cristabel was devastating. Cristabel - who didn’t count herself wholly satisfied until she’d been thoroughly and repeatedly used, in a creative variety of ways - found herself quivering with satiety and over-stimulation from the merest hint of Mercymorn’s attention. 

She forced herself to blink back the tears welling in her eyes. She’d talked Pyrrha into tying her like this because she was concerned that, unrestrained, her enthusiasm might be too much for Mercy. She knew that she could be a lot. Well, crying would certainly be too much, so she was just going to have to keep it together. She wasn’t going to get this close and then scare Mercymorn off.

And then Pyrrha was there, a solid, familiar presence at her back, a warm steadying hand on her cheek, giving her something to cling to, as Mercymorn began lapping delicately at her; a cat trying to avoid getting cream on its whiskers. 

“What do you need, darling?” Pyrrha asked, and there was so much Cristabel needed, in that moment. She needed to dissolve utterly, to climb inside Mercymorn and never come back out. She needed hold Mercy in her arms, and explain that this was all wrong; that it should be Cristabel on her knees, not the other way around, that she didn’t deserve to be cherished this way. She had given herself up as a gift to be enjoyed, a trinket, an offering. She had not anticipated being the subject of such tentative, delighted attention and was wholly unprepared for this response from someone who didn’t even seem to notice she existed, most of the time. 

And she needed this, exactly this. She needed to never stop feeling Mercy’s hand on her thigh, Mercy’s face between her legs. She just needed… something more, as well. Something to ground her, and transform this devastatingly transcendent experience into something more manageable, more familiar. She needed Pyrrha. 

“I need you.” Cristabel said to Pyrrha, struggling to carve out space inside herself to form words, when she was so consumed by Mercy’s touch. “I need you inside me.”

“That,” Pyrrha said, “I can do.” And then Cristabel felt Pyrrha’s hand trailing down her back, between her shoulder-blades, and further, until she was cupping Cristabel’s ass. Cris arched her hips, pressing her cunt into Mercy’s lips, and moving the tip of Pyrrha’s well-lubricated cock to exactly where she wanted it.

“You’re sure?” Pyrrha whispered in her ear, their bodies so close that she could feel the press of Pyrrha’s breasts against her back. Cristabel nodded. It wasn’t like she hadn’t taken Pyrrha’s cock in her ass before, many times, even if Pyrrha usually built up to it slowly, with fingers and tongue. Cris knew that she was ready, and this felt right to her; she needed this surrender, needed to lose her anxious, desperate hoping and whittle her whole self down until there was nothing left but openness and acceptance for whatever came next. 

She sighed as Pyrrha pushed gently, slowly, but inexorably inside her, and knew that her smile was beatific. She had known from the moment that she had been resurrected that this was her strength, this was her grace, this was why God had given her life. She didn’t have Mercy’s mind, or Pyrrha’s gift with the sword, but in this, at least, she was unparalleled. She was the perfect handmaiden, the most devoted acolyte, the most passionate disciple, and when she gave herself to someone, she did so body and soul. 

The orgasm that rolled through her when Pyrrha was fully inside her was gentle, comforting; a warm blanket, not a raging fire; a tide coming in, not a tempest. Somewhere in that perfect moment, Mercy’s hand moved from Cristabel’s thigh until she was cupping her cunt, and her long, cool fingers were soothing against Cris’s heat. 

“Yes,” Cristabel breathed, and then Mercy was inside her too, a single, dexterous finger slipping into her cunt, caressing the inside of her in time with Mercy’s tongue on her clit. Pyrrha wrapped an arm around her, as solid and steady as the ropes which encircled her, fingers finding their way to her right breast, to her nipple, and lingering there, teasing and coaxing until Cristabel relaxed utterly into her bonds, letting her head fall back to rest on Pyrrha’s shoulder, the last trace of tension extinguished from her. 

Cristabel didn’t know how long she hung there as Mercy and Pyrrha wrung climax after climax from her yielding body; she wasn’t conscious of time, only a blissful, absolute completion. Awareness returned slowly, fitfully; she felt tears spill from her eyes and pour down her cheeks as Pyrrha and Mercy withdrew, leaving her open and empty; then there was the heat of Mercy’s bare skin against hers - _when had Mercy taken off her dress?_ \- and the taste of herself on Mercy’s lips, as Mercy kissed her, and she wasn’t empty, not at all; she was full to overflowing with love.


	3. Chapter 3

“Third time’s the charm,” Pyrrha said, as she pulled on the ropes that would hoist Cristabel into the air. Their time with Mercymorn the day before had been magical, had been perfect, but then Mercy had not appeared for dinner last night, or breakfast this morning, and Cris had started to worry. Pyrrha had spent the night elsewhere, presumably with Gideon, and so Cristabel had tossed and turned her way through half the night, before giving up and sitting quietly in the kitchens with God, who never slept at all on the longest night. She supposed that the solstice held a different meaning to the God who kept Dominicus itself alight. 

So today she was tired, and it made her feel raw, as if her every nerve was exposed. Pyrrha told her not to lose heart, but well… her heart was already lost. If it hadn’t been already, then the way Mercymorn had looked up at her from her knees had confirmed it; her heart belonged to Mercy.

Today was the final day of the holiday; tomorrow they’d all be back to work, and Cristabel would have to accept that her plan had been a failure. This was her last shot. There was a knock at the door, and this time when Mercymorn came in, her hair was in a single, simple braid, coiled up at the back of her head, and she wasn’t wearing her work clothes, or the elegant gown of the day before. She wore a simple robe, which she untied, letting it fall to the floor as soon as the door was closed behind her. 

Cristabel gasped, taking in Mercy’s beauty. She was far paler than either Cristabel or Pyrrha, and finely boned, her body seemingly as fragile as her mind was formidable. Cristabel ached to cherish her, and keep her safe, to press kisses to every inch of her creamy skin. 

“Ready to unwrap your solstice gift?” Pyrrha asked, and Cristabel knew that the ribbon was a silly conceit, and yet it was simultaneously perfect - Cristabel wanted to be a gift to Mercy. Instead, Mercy turned and took Pyrrha in her arms, holding her close and pulling her into a kiss. Pyrrha allowed this for a moment, before pulling away, chiding: “Now, love, none of that. It’s time to take off the training wheels. You can do this.” 

With her free hand, Pyrrha propelled Mercy gently towards where Cristabel hung, until she stood just beneath her, and Cristabel was so transfixed, staring into Mercymorn’s eyes, that she barely noticed as Pyrrha secured the rope, tying it around a hook in the wall, and let herself out, closing the door quietly behind her.

“You didn’t have to put on such a show, you know.” Mercy said after a long moment of quiet. 

“I wanted to,” Cristabel replied, honestly, “you deserve it. You deserve everything.”

“You have always been a gift, since the day our Lord woke you. That ribbon is merely gilding the lily.”

“What did Pyrrha mean, about the training wheels?”

For the first time, Mercymorn looked away, and Cristabel began to worry that the question had been a mistake, but then Mercy spoke: “Pyrrha spent the night with me. We talked, a lot. I was scared, but she helped.”

“Scared?”

“It was easier, when she was here; I could just pretend that Ulysses had finally talked me in to attending one of his awful parties, and it didn’t mean anything - but it did mean something. It meant everything to me. Cris… Cristabel. I know what Pyrrha told me, but I need to hear it from you, I think, before I can let myself believe it. I love you, I think I’ve loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, and if you don’t feel the same, I understand, but I can’t do this, not if it doesn’t mean the same to you, as it does to me.”

“But it does! I love you so much I feel like I might break from it. I love you like I’m dying, and being resurrected anew each time you deign to look upon me. I…” Cristabel hesitated, feeling both the truth, and the blasphemy, in what she was about to say. “You mean more to me even than God. To Him, I’m just a disciple, one among many. The space you hold in my heart is yours alone.”

“I don’t… I’m not very good at this. I’ve never really had occasion to…” Mercy paused, collecting herself. “There are many topics I consider myself well versed in. Pleasure is not one of them. But for you - ah, Cristabel, my beloved - for you I shall become a mistress of anatomy and devote myself to joy. I swear that I will give you the world.”

“I don’t need any of that. I don’t need the world. I only need you.” 

“I love all the effort you’ve gone to, don’t think I don’t, but Cristabel, how do I get you down from there? I need you in my arms.”

“The rope is tied around the hook over there,” Cristabel pointed, “just, let me down gently?”

“I’m not very strong.”

“There’s a winch, you’ll be fine.”

Mercy lowered Cristabel to the floor with entirely more caution than was required; Cristabel wasn’t used to being treated like something fragile or precious. She took a moment to untangle and untie herself, feeling a little bad as she kicked the messy heap of ropes to one side, but promising internally that she’d coil them neatly before returning them to Pyrrha in the morning.

There was a moment of awkward hesitation as they looked at each other, and then Mercymorn stepped forwards into Cristabel’s arms. She was just the right height, her head tucking under Cristabel’s chin as though they’d been made to embrace this way. 

“I have a bed,” Cristabel whispered, wanting their time together to be perfect; more romance than rug-burn. Mercy made a wordless noise of assent, and let Cristabel lead her deeper into her chambers. _Chambers!_ Cristabel had far too much room for one person - would it perhaps be just right for two?

Once inside her bedroom, Mercy became stiff and tentative again; Cristabel was starting to get an inkling of just how inexperienced Mercy was, and knew already how little she liked uncertainty. But that wasn’t a problem. Cristabel was more than ready to take the lead. 

She pressed a kiss to Mercy’s lips, felt them part eagerly, inviting more. Mercy may have been unsure of her own expertise, her own abilities, but there was no uncertainty in her desires. They kissed, bodies pressed so close together that Cristabel wasn’t sure that they could ever be parted. She kissed her way down Mercy’s neck, and then pulled her further into the room until, with some arranging, Mercy was lying in the bed, Cristabel kneeling over her. 

Mercy ran her fingers over the marks the ropes had left in Cristabel’s skin, her touch feather-light, and Cristabel responded by continuing her path down, kissing neck, shoulder, chest, and pausing as she reached Mercy’s breasts.

“Is this okay?” 

“Better than okay, but shouldn’t I…?”

Cristabel cut her off. “We have all the time in the world; we have forever. Tonight I just want to make you feel as good as I felt, last night. I just want you to lie back and let me love you.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I’ve ever been of anything.”

Mercy relaxed back into the pillows, though her fingers did not stop tracing the lines in Cristabel’s flesh. Cris, in turn, brought her lips at last to Mercy’s nipples, and set about the task she’d been born for; that of learning each note of pleasure she could tease from the willing instrument of Mercy’s body. 

She quickly discovered that Mercymorn liked a lighter touch than she herself was accustomed to. Where Cristabel yearned for a symphony of experience, a crashing, relentless assault on her senses until she was helpless before it and could only shudder and break open beneath the onslaught, Mercy needed sensation as delicate as she was, something she could encompass, something she could control. Mercy had a hand wound in Cristabel’s hair, and each time she was approaching the limits of her endurance, Cristabel felt the tension in those fingers and moved her attentions to somewhere less sensitized. 

When she eventually found her way to Mercy’s cunt, Cris used only her mouth, acutely aware of the roughness of her sword-calloused palms, her strong, scarred fingers, so different to Mercy’s own. Remembering the dainty, fastidious little flicks of the tongue that Mercy had employed, Cristabel tried to do the same, and was met with powerful response. Mercy’s thighs clenched tight around her, and she felt a foot on her back, toes curling. Cristabel could hear nothing but the great rhythmic susurration of her pulse, or Mercy’s; the two were indistinguishable, their hearts beating as one. 

Cristabel could have stayed there forever, but eventually the hand in her hair drew her away, rather than holding her close, and Mercy’s legs fell limp on the bed to either side of her. Sound rushed back in, and light, and Cristabel wasn’t ready to return to a world where her every sense was not full up of Mercymorn and only her, so she crawled her way up the length of Mercy’s body until she could twine herself around her necromancer and bury her head in Mercy’s sweat-slick skin, breathing in the scent of her, knowing that at last, she was home, and she would never be alone again.


End file.
